Sam I Am, Freak I'm Not
by BulletsCoffeeFaith
Summary: Prejudice, ignorance and misunderstanding were the bane of Sam Winchester's existence. No one really understood what he was going through, or just how hard the disorder was to live with. That is, no one but Dean. AU teenchester/pre-series. Bullied!Unhappy!TourettesSyndrome!Sam Protective!BigBrother!Dean.


**DISCLAIMER: I do not own Supernatural or any of it's characters, though I sure would like to get my hands on Jared and Jensen (in every sense of the term, she said while waggling her eyebrows suggestively.) In a way, I own Tourettes syndrome – more, my body and brain do, so I can't rightly give you a TS disclaimer.**

**A/N: I decided to write this fic after being faced with way too many ignorant Tourettes syndrome jokes/comments.**

**People assume Tourettes syndrome is when those who suffer from it get really angry and start swearing out loud for no reason. If you think this is what Tourettes is, please know that I'm not trying to insult you in any way with this fic; I just want to set the record straight, because Hollywood and society have been feeding you lies about this disorder. **

**If you'd like to know what it really is, Google "All Children's Hospital – Tourettes Syndrome" because it would take me forever to explain it all in one little author's note. Long story short, it's a tic disorder. Tics are when people move when they don't want to. **

**My sister and I both have Tourettes, and this is sort of a Supernatural version of her and I, in a way...save for the whole monster-hunting-is-the-family-business thing, of course.**

**Thank you for putting up with me and my long-ass author's note. And again, I totally am not trying to offend anyone. I just wanted to let out all my pent-up emotions over the misunderstanding of this disorder. For someone who has it, stereotypes and misunderstandings can be extremely agitating.**

**It's not my best piece, but please try to enjoy it anyway!**

* * *

It never seemed to end.

No matter how many bullies Dean threatened, or how many times he declared that anybody who dared mess with his brother would get their ass kicked into next week, it never stopped. Sam always came home with tears on his face. The sixteen year old who once loved everything about school now begged his brother to let him stay home, and _please don't make me go, they'll beat me up again, my tics, I'm a freak, please don't make me go_.

Once, after a particularly vicious day, Dean took Sam out for dinner and a movie, determined to cheer his practically wilting little brother up once more. As they sat in the booth at a popular family diner, the tics began to pick up again, which made sense. It was always worse when Sam was nervous, and being out in public made him nervous. It was all too normal to Dean. It'd been over three years since the diagnosis of Tourette's syndrome. There was nothing strange about his brother as far as he could see.

It was just another one of those things that made Sam who he was.

Their waitress, on the other hand, obviously had no experience whatsoever with the disorder. Dean tried his best to reign in his anger. The girl was young, probably not much older than Sam himself. But after one too many strange looks from her, glares and whispered insults from the other customers, Dean finally snapped.

Maybe jumping out his seat and shouting nastily at everyone else in the building had embarrassed his brother, but it made Dean feel better to see the fear on their faces and hear their mumbled apologies. They cowered away as he grabbed Sam by the arm, strolling past their tables and out the door. He tried to ignore the few looks of genuine remorse he caught. None of them seemed to know that his brother had a disorder.

But that in itself was the problem - the ignorance.

Not knowing was one thing. It was alright to be unaware, but the way they stared, the horrible words they spat, sent a fiery rage burning through the older brother's veins.

It shouldn't have made Dean feel good, knowing that half the town was now terrified of him, but it did.

Maybe now they would leave his brother alone.

* * *

They moved again two weeks after that incident, unsurprisingly. Though he was usually glad to see yet another crack hole town disappear in the rear-view mirror, Dean was quite disappointed this time. After his little outburst at the diner, not one tear fell from Sam's eye for the remainder of their stay.

_Two entire fucking weeks_, and not once was Sam harassed and picked on to the point of nearly drowning in his own tears._  
_

It was almost unheard of, and damn, did it feel good knowing he was the reason Sam was really alright for once. But he should have known it wouldn't last forever. Nothing good ever did; not with Winchester luck.

Sam seemed almost relieved when their father told him he wouldn't be enrolling in school during their next hunt; he'd be too busy with research to bother with anything else. That alone put a great big crack right in the middle of his brother's heart.

Sam was never the same after that day in the diner.

It was almost as if that had been his final breaking point; the part where he finally snapped and gave in to society's pressure for him to be better, to be perfect.

What happened to the Sammy that used to love school with a passion, who fought their father tooth and nail when he tried to pull the kid away from his arithmetic and science studies? Because whoever it was sitting on the motel room bed across from his, it wasn't the brother he'd known not too long ago.

This Sam was more into the hunt than he ever should have been. There was no thirst for a normal life. Only a desperate need to get away from it, for he knew that if he tried to be social or anything even remotely close to normal, he would be outcasted.

John, tough as he could be on his youngest, would never think less of him over some stupid disorder, and it was obvious that Dean wouldn't even dream of it. His family was with him, as were all of John's friends and fellow hunters. That was a given.

When he hunted, nobody made fun of his tics. Nobody even took notice, and if they did, they were too used to it to really care. And that was just the way Sam liked it, Dean knew.

They'd always wanted Sam to be more interested in the hunt than school, but now that they'd gotten their wish, Dean hoped against all hope that there would be some sort of way to take it back. Maybe John wasn't bothered by his son's sudden sadness and poor self-esteem, his need to be away from anyone and everyone he didn't know. But it scared the living shit out of Dean. He wanted _his_ Sam back. Friendly, bitchy, puppy-dog-eyes wielding Sam. Not the Sam who still had scars and bruises from the kids at school who beat him down. Not the Sam who was so withdrawn into himself that every smile and every laugh was obviously forced for his brother's sake.

He wanted to scream and he wanted to punch something over and over until his knuckles were raw and bleeding – but he didn't.

Dean held it together for Sam, just like Sam did for him.

* * *

And then came the day of his departure for Stanford.

Maybe before the diagnosis, this wouldn't have come as such a surprise. But now, after Sam's almost suicidal two-year endeavor to avoid all civilization and become the perfect hunter, Dean couldn't contain his shock. The remorse was there, too. A jolt of sadness and a deep pang in his chest as he realized he would no longer be around to protect his brother. Their father would flip. Dean would be expected to take his side, and when he refused to pick, refused to step into their fight because he loved them both too damn much and he just didn't know what to say, Sam would leave.

Then John would tell him not to come back. He would completely disown his youngest child.

Dean would catch a glimpse of glistening tears in his brother's eyes, see them begin to fall down his face as he opened the door and slammed it shut behind him.

Dean would rush to find his brother, would be relieved to see that the bus hadn't come yet and his brother was still hunched over on the bench, the tics attacking with no mercy as sobs racked his tall form. They always did act up when he was unhappy. But he'd never seen his brother's disorder quite this bad.

He would pull his brother into a bone-crushing hug, make him promise to call every day despite their father's outcasting him from the family. Make him promise to look after himself, to lay down salt lines every night and sleep with a gun under his pillow.

He would fight back tears as Sam hugged him in return, agreeing to every demand without question or hesitation, then watch in utter despair as Sam climbed onto the bus without so much as a single look back at his older brother.

And it happened.

It all did, right down to the part where Dean stumbled back to the motel to find that his father had taken off – most likely to a bar in an attempt to drown away every thought that reminded him he had a second son – and didn't try to stop the few silent tears that trailed down his face.

John didn't get Sam like he did. Yeah, he loved the kid - but he'd never been able to understand that Sam was just different. He didn't get that, though his words were spoken out of anger, Sam didn't leave in that same heated fury. He left dragging behind him the belief that his father truly wanted him gone. And maybe he really did.

That was okay, though. Dean cared for his brother more than enough for the both of them.

Tourettes or not, college or hunting, dead or alive, Sam was still his Sammy. And that was the only constant among the galaxy of variables in Dean's life.

That would never, _could_ never change.


End file.
